


midnight city

by thescrewtapedemos



Series: EDM PWP oneshots [4]
Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Blood and Violence, Extremely Rough Sex, Hate Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9279314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescrewtapedemos/pseuds/thescrewtapedemos
Summary: Mat and his relationship with alleyways, bruises, and pain.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a nsfw drabble request! 
> 
> enjoy xoxo

Mat’s cheek collides with the brickwork and explodes with pain, mouth suddenly fertile with the taste of blood. 

He grins evilly, tries to lever himself back and is stopped by the hot, heavy weight of Asaf's body settling against his back. He thinks he probably looks like a nightmare. His teeth pink with blood, his eye swelling shut. Everything is throbbing with the skittering knife’s-edge of adrenaline, the hard glitter of exhaustion on the edge of his vision. 

“You look really good taking a fist to the face,” Asaf coos at him. His voice is sing-song and so mocking. Mat laughs, bucks against Asaf again. He's not trying to get away; they both know it. 

“Maybe you'll be the one to fucking punch me someday,” Mat coos back, sotto and just as barbed. 

Asaf's hand finds his hair and grinds his face against the wall some more. Mat thinks with absent interest that his skin will split soon. That he'll have a bruise is already a forgone conclusion. 

“You're not good enough for me to bloody my knuckles,” Asaf murmurs gently. He's pressing in, pinning Mat to the wall with his body. The hot weight feels so good, so unimaginably good and Mat hates that it does. 

His cock throbs. He doesn't have the room to move his hips much but there's a little friction in rubbing against the wall and he takes it shamelessly. Rocks between the cold wall and Asaf, so burning hot, he's hard and Mat can feel it pressing against his ass. 

“Hate to mess up your pretty hands,” Mat mumbles back with poison that burns so good in his mouth. Asaf laughs and bounces Mat’s head against the wall hard enough for him to see stars, hard enough that for a moment Mat’s vision is tunneling, so hard but not hard enough to break skin. 

Mat’s a little disappointed in that. 

He licks his swollen lip and hisses at the soreness. The fight had been Asaf’s fault but Mat had come out worse, as usual, as he always does. 

“Are you gonna fuck me or what?” he demands through a feral grin and Asaf laughs. 

“Fucking slut for pain, always have been,” he says and that wipes the smile from Mat's face. He snarls instead, heaves back and manages to turn himself, get a knee up against the wall and use the leverage to force Asaf back. Abruptly they're facing each other again. 

For a moment they stand, staring and panting, bloodied and bruised with teeth bared. It feels animal and Mat's still so hard with it. Asaf is too; Mat can see the bulge in his dirty jeans. 

They start to circle almost at the same moment and that makes Mat angrier too. He hates with a heat that's absolutely the same as the heat gathering in the pit of his stomach. They feed into each other until the desperate want to break Asaf's pretty nose is the same as the desire to rut against him until he comes. 

The air smells of blood and asphalt. Mat can't taste anything else. 

Asaf throws the punch and he’s not even trying to connect. Mat dodges it easily, rushes Asaf and slams him against the other wall. They’re grappling for a long series of still moments, limbs tangling, skin sliding together and it’s not supposed to be erotic - it’s a dirty alley and it smells like gasoline and shit - but it is. 

Mat gasps for air when Asaf heaves him off and then a heel is hooking around his ankle and he’s hitting the ground and his head bounces against the pavement-

He comes to a moment later and Asaf is settling across his thighs, Mat’s wrists gathered in one hand. 

The ground is filthy, a wet scum of stagnant water and trash and mud and other things, and Mat can feel it soaking into his hair. Into his clothes. It’s cold and sticky and he squirms against it, against Asaf’s weight. 

He bucks and it’s not so much a desire to pull away as to test Asaf’s strength. They’re almost matched in every way, slight advantages one way or the other; Mat’s faster, Asaf is stronger, Mat’s more strategic, Asaf more vicious. It rarely matters. It ends up the same every time, one of them under the other straining for friction and pleasure. 

His mouth still tastes like asphalt. 

“Gonna fuck me?” he demands. Asaf snarls. 

“Fuck _yourself_ ,” he says and rocks his erection against Mat’s thigh. 

Mat cries out because it rocks the two of them together and it feels so good, it grinds into his bruises and his own erection and he wants more. He needs more and he bucks into it, rocks his hips up in a rhythm nothing like Asaf’s. They’re rutting, graceless and angry and bloodstained, and Mat can barely breathe with how right it feels. 

He keens and Asaf groans in answer, bends forward and then swears when it’s not enough leverage. 

Asaf shifts his grip for a moment and it occurs to Mat to try to break his grip but Asaf already has his wrists again, one in each hand, pinning them up above his head. Like this they’re pressed together chest to knee, thighs locked together, the friction so tight and rapid and Mat cries out again when Asaf resumes his brutal pace. 

He’s being ground into the pavement and he loves it, moans rising and falling as Asaf ruts against him. It’s careless, Asaf doesn’t _care_ about Mat’s pleasure and Mat takes it anyway. Takes it in the aching sting of his bruises and the pressure against his cock and the way Asaf’s hot breath is brushing the side of his neck. Asaf’s hips still move with his breathing, the hot bulge of his dick dragging against his thigh. 

He feels so alive. He feels animal and wild and feral and alive, and he needs it, he _needs_ it. 

“F-fuck you,” he gets out, and then when Asaf shifts and teeth close on his collarbone he’s screaming. 

Asaf comes with a groan and the sudden release of tension and Mat wants to scream again, in triumph and anger and emotions he can’t find a name for, vicious things that claw at his ribcage. He hates. He hates so, so much. 

Asaf’s hands loosen and Mat rips free of them, gets a leg up and flips them with an ease that does nothing to sate the rage beating against his chest. Asaf is slow in trying to fight him, slow with orgasm, too slow to stop Mat pinning his hands under his legs. 

Mat stares down at him for a moment, panting for breath. His cock hurts with how hard he is. 

He palms himself through his jeans, presses rough fingers against his bulge and rocks his hips up into his hand a little. It feels good, pleasure hot and golden. It’s pooling molten at the base of his spine, in the pit of his stomach, tight and…

It’s not enough. 

He stands with a jolt and Asaf is still on the ground, still staring at him. Panting for air. His lip is split, a smear of blood down his chin. Mat’s shirt is stuck to his back with the wetness of laying on the ground and it’s not enough. It’s just not enough. 

He spits in Asaf’s direction and turns away before he can see where it lands. 

“Don’t fucking call,” he throws back over his shoulder, into the sound of Asad struggling to his feet. 

He walks away. There’s other places he can be. Other people he can meet. The night is young and dark enough to hide the bruises on his face from anyone that will care.


End file.
